The Letters of Albus Dumbledore
by The Crushinator
Summary: The collected letters of Albus Dumbledore from 1899 to 1945, from his last days as a student at Hogwarts to the defeat of Gellert Grindelwald in 1945. He was nothing more, and nothing less, than a man who loved.
1. Foreword: A Man Who Loved

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**The Letters of Albus Dumbledore **

**1899 – 1945**

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Edited by

Hermione Granger-Weasley

and

Minerva McGonagall

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Obscurus Books

18a Diagon Alley, London

2009-2011

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"Albus Dumbledore was a good man."

-Harry Potter, upon his reception of the Order of Merlin, First Class

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**Foreword: A Man Who Loved**

In the years since the Dark Lord's defeat, Albus Dumbledore's image has been toppled, dissected, spat-upon, and dragged through the mud. People who shall not be named directly, but with little moral character and the singular desire to make a sensation, who report for the thrill of sullying that which we hold sacred, have done their part in this with more than enough ardor to go around. Similarly, his image has been raised to new heights, praised, lauded, and scrubbed completely clean. There have been well-meaning people, worshipful people, who have taken what Dumbledore was and vaunted his image so high that he has eclipsed Merlin as the ideal of Wizarding society. His name has become both an insult and a blessing, with no room for the in-betweens. He was the greatest of us; he was the worst of us. He manipulated those he claimed to care for; he was always there to protect those who most needed him. He lied; he always told the truth. He trusted; he was a gullible fool. He loved.

This, we believe, is the greatest key to understanding Dumbledore's character: that he loved. Both sides of the debate claim this as an argument. He loved, and this was weak and foolish. He loved, and this is what made him strong. What we should remember is that love has many sides, and that the same man who has loved unwisely can also love justly and well. There are no absolutes in love, just as there should be no absolutes in life. The moment we begin to think in absolutes, we dishonor everything we fought for in the second Great War, and in doing so, we dishonor ourselves. Dumbledore learned this the hard way: love changes. As did he.

Dumbledore was not Merlin. He made mistakes. He tried to make up for them, sometimes with bad results. Dumbledore was not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He worked tirelessly for those who had no one else to help them, even those who had no magic, those who could never thank him for what he did. He was not the kind of man to ask for thanks, much less expect it, as the Dark Lord expected gratitude from the Wizarding world for the atrocities he committed, much like Gellert Grindelwald before him. Who was he, then?

Unfortunately, there is little of him left. Dumbledore was not an open man. Accustomed to a life of necessary secrecy, all the letters he received he likely vanished, for even our best forensic witches and wizards have found nothing but knitting patterns and candy recipes from the files he left behind. Thus, we have only what he wrote to other people as a record of who he truly was: not a flawless hero, not a conniving villain, but a man. A man who tried all his life to make up for his single greatest mistake: that, blinded by the love that would later make him strong, he could not tell the difference between the greater good, and the greater evil.

It is our hope that this collection of letters, arranged in chronological order and donated to use by the families of his correspondents as well as the last surviving member of his own family, will help shed some light on who Dumbledore truly was. It is our belief that he was nothing more, and nothing less, than this: a man who loved.

-Hermione Granger-Weasley and Minerva McGonagall, with some insight from Harry Potter.

_Written with all due gratitude towards the families of Bathilda Bagshot and Armando Dippet for their gracious contributions, and deepest thanks toward Elphias Dodge, Aberforth Dumbledore, and all who consented to be interviewed for their invaluable assistance. Additional content generously donated from the files of the Daily Prophet, the Ministry of Magic, the British Library of Magic, and the Nuremburg Secret War Museum._


	2. Section 1: The Prime of Our Lives

"It was a grand time then. Not many are left who remember, but I do. Fantastic things were happening; there weren't any wars going on - at least with us - the galleon was stronger than ever, fellows I knew at school were winning alchemy awards and inventing new spells, the Chudley Canons won the cup, even, and everywhere Witches and Wizards were making strides beyond the limits of what we'd thought magically possible. It never occurred to anyone to be worried. Why should we have been? We were in the prime of our lives."

-Elphias Doge

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**Section 1: The Prime of Our Lives**

**1899 - 1900**

By the time he graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore had already had his papers published in _Transfiguration Today_, won the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, attained the position of British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, and won the Gold Medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo, all feats unheard of for someone his age then and ever since. At seventeen the Gryffindor Head Boy was, in the words of Griselda Marchbanks, his N.E.W.T. examiner, "a charming, sharp young man - and so talented with his wand! You're not going to use that in the book, are you?" Few who met him failed to be impressed by his accomplishments. "No one could call him modest, exactly," says Tiberius Ogden, a former classmate of his. "He didn't pretend he wasn't the best in our class. It was enough to make anyone jealous after a time, to be frank. But his confidence was what attracted people to him. His attitude was infectious. When you were with him, you felt like you were capable of flying a broomstick to the moon."

However, things were not always so easy for Dumbledore. In one of the most sensationalized news stories of the day, Young Albus' father, Percival Dumbledore, was sent to Azkaban after attacking and nearly killing three muggle boys. At the time, Albus was nine. Kendra Dumbledore, mother of Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana, did what she could to protect her family from scandal by moving them from their longtime home in Mold-on-the-Wold to relative anonymity in Godric's Hollow, but a change in location can only do so much when pitted against people's memories for malefaction. When he started Hogwarts in 1892, it had scarcely been more than a year since the incident, and Percival Aberforth's crime was anything but forgotten. On his first day at Hogwarts, barely eleven years old, Albus was an outcast. "I certainly didn't hold with him at first," admits Ogden. "Muggle-hating father and all that. Caught him hanging around with Archon Malfoy the first day, yelling about the latest issue of _Warlock at War_. Nasty stuff."_ Warlock at War_, the last issue of which was published in 1954, was an anti-muggle periodical started by Brutus Malfoy in the early seventeenth century. It is unsurprising, therefore, that Albus was suspected of keeping less than savory company. Augustus Tofty, then in his seventh year at Hogwarts, remembers the eleven-year-old Dumbledore's troubles during his first few days at school: "Some of the students thought to impress Albus by detailing their own fathers' histories of muggle abuse, believing that he too was not unlike his famous father. Beset on one side by the wrong kind of admirer and ignored by his more righteous peers, Albus had no one to turn to for comfort or companionship for a very long time."

This, however, would soon change. Elphias Doge, Dumbledore's self-proclaimed best friend at Hogwarts, recalls, "We all knew about the business with Albus' father, but once we got to know him, it was easy to forget where he'd come from. There was no one like him, no one at all." Doge, afflicted with a severe case of dragon-pox just before his first day at Hogwarts, remembers Dumbledore as being the only boy his age on his first day of Hogwarts to approach him not with disgust and fear, but in friendship. "Every other person who saw me stayed well away, though I was far past the contagious stage. Every other person except for Albus. He could always see the worth in a person, even if that worth was buried under pox and green skin." It was Dumbledore's unfailing kindness that transformed even the staunchest of his adversaries into lifelong friends. In the words of Ogden, "After his first year, he even had Slytherins after him for the time of day. The right ones, mind." Aberforth Dumbledore, who arrived at Hogwarts in 1895, remembers his brother somewhat less fondly, but no less admiringly. "He [sic] were a right pompous prat with awards up to his arse. Teachers loved him, students loved him, mother was over the moon about him, hell, even Peeves loved him. It's anyone's guess as to how he did that." The articles he published in _Transiguration Today _led him into correspondence with some of the most noted scholars of his day, such as Bathilda Bagshot, author of _A History of Magic _and neighbor to the Dumbledore family, and his equations in _The Alchemist's Crucible _won him a partnership with the celebrated Nicholas Flamel. His peers thought it was only a matter of time before he was appointed Minister for Magic. "He [Dumbledore] used to say he was going to transform his family's name from a curse into a blessing," says Doge. "We thought it was only a matter of time before he was appointed Minister for Magic. When we brought it up, he'd only laugh, modest as always." Poised at the threshold of the Grand Tour, the then traditional journey around the magical world undertaken by wizards who had come of age, and soon to receive top marks in his N.E.W.T.s., the seventeen year old Albus Dumbledore seemed to be standing at the cusp of certain greatness.

True greatness, however, does not come without a price.

It is well-known what happened next. Dumbledore went on to a career of magical research that bore such fruit as the twelve uses of dragon's blood and the application of the diagonal wand movement to cross-species transfiguration. His interest in law led him to be appointed as chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and his attention to international affairs brought him the title of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. When he was offered the position of Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts School, he accepted, and went on to shape the minds of young Witches and Wizards until his career was interrupted by the rise of Gellert Grindelwald in Europe. Then, he took one year to track down and defeat the then darkest wizard of all time in what would be remembered as the most spectacular duel in history. Upon Grindelwald's defeat, he returned to teaching until he accepted the title of headmaster at the school he so dearly loved, a title which he would hold until his death in 1997. To date, he is the only person to have been laid to rest on Hogwarts' grounds.

There is something amiss, however, in the tapestry of Dumbledore's life. One position he would refuse not one, but several times over the next few years was that of Minister for Magic, the very one which his peers and teachers had been so sure he would take, and which his brother remembers he wanted very much. Doge attributes this to Dumbledore's natural modesty. Aberforth Dumbledore does not agree. "Albus? Modest? You may as well call a fish furry, or a goat polite. He used to stay up nights with our mother, talking about how he'd change the world when they made him minister. He couldn't wait to become Minister for Magic." Why, then, did he refuse the appointment? It was offered to him not once, but several times during his life. Why did he instead choose to pursue a rewarding but low-profile career as a schoolteacher and scholar? The answer, we hope, can be found within this collection of letters. In the words of Harry Potter, arguably one of the people who knew Dumbledore best, "He never pretended to anything. He just kept his secrets. These [letters] are probably as close as anyone will ever get to them."

In June of 1899, Albus Dumbledore graduated Hogwarts. It was the summer after that, however, the summer he turned eighteen, that made him into the person he later became; the person who engineered the defeats of the two darkest wizards of all time, who became one of the best loved headmasters of in Hogwarts' history, and who, ultimately, changed the world. In the end, it is uncertain just how much he knew of it at the time.


	3. June 5th, 1899

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated._

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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_June 5th, 1899_

My Dear Mother,

It's near the end of term, as you are doubtless aware, and the mood here is intoxicating. Examination time has (finally!) arrived. All my classmates are sweating themselves into a fever over the N.E.W.T.s. Elvira Winthrope's come over in hives from the powdered dragon claw that Ogden sold her (though I have it in good faith that it was actually powdered doxy droppings, so I daresay the girl got off light), and Elphias hasn't come out from under his bed except for lessons. I try to coax him out every now and then to see the sun, but he just shakes his head and mutters his Arithmancy notes. I suppose they give him comfort. As I myself finished preparing for these exams several weeks ago, all the comfort I need is a good quill, some well-mixed ink, and a healthy amount of parchment. If I were to run out of that last particular once during exams, I should have to continue on the desk by quill or by wand, and I very much doubt the caretaker would appreciate the results of my academic fervor. I expect top marks.

I worry, however, about Aberforth. It seems he has very little care for exam time and everything it entails. He spends most of his time with the Care of Magical Creatures professor, or out on the grounds doing Merlin knows what. Indeed, I rarely see him indoors at all, much less in a classroom. Often when I see him I ask what he does during those long days outdoors, but he always refuses to answer, preferring to acknowledge my inquiries with long glares rather than taking the opportunity to begin an intelligent discourse. It escapes me how someone who seems to care so little for the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom could be a member of our family.

I apologize. I am being unkind. My brother is not like me, and I should not expect him to act as such. However, you do not know how trying he can be for me at times. The reputation of our family that I have built and jealously guarded since my first hour at Hogwarts sometimes seems to depend entirely upon whether my younger brother can pass remedial Charms. I do hope at least you can talk some sense into him during the holidays. Nothing I've said seems to have made any sort of difference.

Elphias and I plan to depart for Greece once we finish up the term (and once I force him to come out from under his bed). Though I know that you would like to have me home for a little while at least before I leave, I find myself increasingly impatient to begin the Grand Tour. Every day I am more overcome with a restlessness I have scarcely the words to describe.

My love to Ariana. The chocolate frogs are for her.

Your son,  
_Albus_


	4. June 12th, 1899

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated._

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_June 12th 1899_

Ab-

I've just received your owl. I cannot believe this. I stare and I stare and I try to comprehend the awful contents of your letter, but my heart and my mind cannot come to agreement and let me accept it. Mother, dead? How did this happen, Aberforth? How can this have been allowed to occur? After all our precautions, after all we sacrificed, how was this the result?

Forgive me. As long as Ariana is well, it was never pointless. However, I cannot rid myself of the feeling of emptiness that has taken root inside me, like the weight of our mother's shadow. I doubt I shall ever be free of it.

I have put my plans on hold and I will be arriving as soon as I can arrange for my things to be sent to home before me. Elphias and I were planning to leave for Greece in the morning to study with the Guild of Doric Geomancers, but in the face of what has happened, what I cannot bring myself to write again, all of that is forgotten. I am head of the family now, and I will do whatever it takes to fill the void that mother has left in all our lives. Forgive the brevity of this letter, but I must attend to business if I am to arrive in time to make arrangements for the funeral.

-A

Merlin, Aberforth, How will Ariana cope? Our poor, sweet sister, how will she manage without our mother there to guide her?

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**Notes**

Kendra Dumbledore's death on June 11th 1899 was unexpected. She was not an elderly woman at the time of her demise, and by all accounts was in robust health, having been seen the day before by many of her neighbors at the local market. Though her death was attributed to natural causes, Aberforth Dumbledore confirms that fourteen year-old Ariana Dumbledore, whose poor heath and frail condition made it impossible for her to attend school, was the cause of a magical accident that inadvertently killed her mother. (_It is the opinion of this editor that Rita Skeeter should have tried interviewing the last surviving Dumbledore if she were going for accuracy in her sensationalized potboiler _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._ However, Skeeter's creativity only seems to stretch far enough to add the fictional twists she makes up to embellish her stories. -M.M._)

The Guild of Doric Geomancers is a Thessaloniki-based group of Witches known for their highly controversial research into the Old Powers of the Earth, a branch of magic thought to have died out during the sacking of Rome. Albus would later go on to study with them in the early nineteen twenties, an experience which he later praised in his papers on the unseen influence of ancient fault lines in Arithmancy equations.


	5. June 14th, 1899

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated._

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_June 14th, 1899_

My Dear Elphias-

My thanks for taking time from your full itinerary to attend my mother's burial. I understand how difficult it can be to manage a cancellation and re-reservation on the Gauldor Express, much less one so close to one's date of departure, and I deeply appreciate the lengths you have gone to in order to offer solace to your grieving friend. Your friendship and support were the brightest lights available to me on that dismal day. Do you remember the single malt firewhiskey that we shared in the master bedroom? Every night since you left I have drunk it in your honor, as a reminder of what we could have had together if only we had been able to continue with our plans. Adventure! Excitement! Discovery! An entire world out there, ours for the taking, and I am delegated an existence as caretaker to an invalid and an ingrate in a secluded, monotonous village.

Though my sister's happiness means the world to me, I must confess that it pains me that she will never appreciate what I have sacrificed to ensure that her life is as free of pain as is possible. Darling Ariana. Would that I could find a cure for her madness. Perhaps if I could have gone along with you, Elphias, we could have spoken to the healers of the Orient and found some heretofore unknown Alchemy–

No. Speculation is useless. Ariana's health cannot be improved by anything but action. And action is the one thing I cannot take. The irony, I assure you, has not escaped my notice. As I see the long years in Godric's Hollow stretch before of me, it is my sole hope I will be able to keep my mind sharp through correspondence.

Which reminds me - do you recall my prestigious neighbor, Bathilda Bagshot? You met her briefly at the funeral - a stocky woman with a pleasant smile and blond hair sticking out from under her bonnet. While you were occupied with seating Mrs. Mirabelle and young Muriel Prewett, Miss Bagshot offered her condolences in the form of news – an upcoming visit from her great-nephew. From the way she went on about how charming, brilliant, and handsome he is, I am expecting a sub-human simpleton with the manners of a troll to arrive in a few weeks. Perhaps Aberforth will be pleased with his company. They are, after all, nearly the same age – Miss Bagshot confessed to me that her nephew is freshly sixteen. What she expects me to gain from a friendship with someone who has not yet finished his education is quite beyond my comprehension. I have always considered Miss Bagshot to be a brilliant scholar and historian, but in this subject, it appears, she is not the best in her field. Alas. I shall at least have _her _to talk to if I find myself starving for intelligent conversation. Aside from you, of course, should you find time during your travels to visit an old friend.

I cannot tell you how very much I miss you. Aberforth is sullen and angry, except when he is with Ariana or his goats, and Ariana herself is unpredictable as the wind. There are clear days in which her smile is brighter than the sun to me, and dark ones in which none but Aberforth can coax her to come in from the storm inside her head. On those days my efforts to calm her never have any effect. Then, I can see in her eyes that she does not recognise me. Her eldest brother, a stranger to her! I, who have known her all her life! What demons whisper in her ears so that she does not know her own family? If I could go back and stop those muggles, I swear to you that they would not be –

Again, useless speculation. Please pardon the ravings of an isolated man. My lonely days have hardly begun and already I wish that you had stayed with me for a while longer. Then at least one person would be regularly pleased to see me.

Write when you arrive in Montenegro. I long to read your descriptions of the wild chimera.

Most Sincerely,

Albus

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**Notes**

**The Gauldor Express** was a magical transcontinental railway which ran in 1899 from Calais, France through Switzerland, Italy, Austria-Hungary, Montenegro, Turkey, Greece, Bulgaria, Romania, Russia, into Asia over the Caucasus Mountains, then through Persia, Arabia, and Syria until its final stop in Cairo, Egypt. During the time period in which Dumbledore's friend Elphias rode it to his destination in Greece, the Gauldor Express was noted for its speed and luxury and was particularly enjoyed by the upper classes of Wizarding society. During the Great War, it was among the railways torn down and melted for parts, both magical and metallic. Though it was briefly restored during the short economic boom at the end of that war, it was finally decommissioned in 1939 following a decade of low ticket sales. Many of its disparate parts went on to serve as construction materials for Grindelwald's prison Nurmengard during the War of Secrecy.

Since Ariana Dumbledore's childhood, research in the field of magical child psychology has shed some light on the true nature of her condition. Often observed in children who have suffered traumatising events such as assault, rape, the death of a family member, abuse, or other damaging and difficult to understand events, **Post Traumatic Stress Disorder** is characterised by a gradual change in behavior, sudden outbursts of violence or magic, depression, agoraphobia, intense anxiety, and hyper-vigilance. Her sudden outbursts of uncontrolled magic, depression, and rage are a common symptom of magical children with PTSD, who are acting out as a result of the stress of living a life of constant hypersensitivity and fear. The results of such incidents could only have served to traumatise Ariana further, as magic was the very thing she feared most. In addition, Children with PTSD often develop what is known as '**omen formation**,' which is a belief that if the child had avoided certain behaviors or indicators, then the trauma could have been prevented. In Ariana's case, her use of magic resulted in not only pain and stress, but also in the loss of a beloved father and a home she had known since birth. Given the parameters, it is logical to attribute Ariana's avoidance of magic as her way of avoiding repeating her trauma, and that her 'sweet' behavior was her way of avoiding the 'bad' behavior – i.e. underage magic – that resulted in the loss of her father, her home, and her sanity. Perhaps she believed that if she avoided magic and was good, no other members of her family would die and no one would hurt her.

By Aberforth Dumbledore's account and a few of Albus' extant letters, it is evident that Ariana was well-cared for, given the circumstances. There is no evidence that Kendra Dumbledore's care of her daughter did anything to exacerbate Ariana's condition, though it did little to cure it. It is likely, in fact, that keeping Ariana's condition a secret was the best thing her family could do for her at the time. In the 1890s, Muggle psychology was still a fledgling field, to say nothing of the Wizarding counterpart, and most treatments for conditions such as Ariana's involved electroshock therapy,* the application of healing 'salts,' wafting foul smells under the patients' noses, frequent ice baths, and involuntary commitment to metal asylums where such 'treatments' could be applied around the clock. With cures such as these as the alternative, keeping Ariana at home where she could be watched by her family and spared interacting with the muggles who had so traumatised her was almost certainly the Dumbledores' only humane answer to the question of her puzzling psyche.

*_the less we say about this barbaric practice, the better – H.G.-W._


	6. June 23rd, 1899

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated._

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_June 23rd, 1899_

Dear Elphias,

It has been one week since your last few letters arrived. I apologise for not writing back to you in a more timely manner. You see, I have been singularly occupied with a most unexpected pleasure: an equal.

Are you surprised? I was as well - most likely far more than you are right now, reading this letter. It seems I was mistaken in my hasty assessment of Miss Bagshot's great-nephew, and have been utterly delighted with his company. If you could but meet him, Elphias! What debates we could have, we three! You would no doubt find some of his arguments a bit on the radical side - you were always a soft-hearted soul - but his skill! His spellwork! I confess I have never seen anything like it in all my life, both at Hogwarts and beyond. Even the elders at the Cairo Alchemical Conference would be taken aback by his deft research in that field. Though I was not pleased with his methodology on first glance, he has proven a most persuasive scholar, and I find myself looking at certain ideas which I have always held as unquestionable in a quite different light. He has been a gift to me, Elphias, a gift to me in my loneliness. I never dreamed I could meet someone who could set my mind so aflame.

Let me set the scene of our first meeting. We received a note from Miss Bagshot that her great-nephew had arrived, and being a good neighbor, I invited them both to join us for afternoon tea at their earliest convenience. She sent her card back at once, and agreed with my chosen date. After a little persuading, Aberforth agreed to attend as long as Ariana was to be included. Though I had certain reservations on that matter, I gave in to his condition. After all, I was still operating under the assumption that the nephew and I would have little to talk about, and thought to provide him with at least one conversation partner if I could not suffice. Miss Bagshot and her great-nephew arrived the following day to find all three of us in our visiting best. Can you picture us, Elphias? I wore my chartreuse robes, the ones with the silver trim, and Aberforth was in his usual sombre grey. Ariana was arrayed in pink, and would have been perfect if she had not somehow managed to remove the matching ribbon I had so delicately arranged in her hair before anyone could see the effect. In my next letter, I shall have to attach a photo. But I digress.

Remember that I wrote you that Miss Bagshot's great-nephew is only a little older than Aberforth? When I first saw him I was shocked to discover that he is also smaller than my brother - a wild-looking slip of a thing with unruly yellow hair and what can only be described as an impish smile. I was certain that he and Aberforth would soon begin a career of pulling pranks on their elders to pass the summer. I was shortly proven wrong. He spared not a glance for Aberforth, and instead strolled over to the bookshelves and asked me if I was partial to the works of Julian Flynt.

Then the most extraordinary thing occurred. Miss Bagshot had brought a few sweets for Ariana, but Ariana had refused to take them. Instead, she hid behind my brother and shook her head at every repetition of the offer. This behavior is nothing out of the ordinary; Ariana has a particular mistrust of strangers (though she has met Miss Bagshot on multiple occasions). Just as I was readying myself to apologise for my sister, Miss Bagshot's great-nephew took the sweets from his Aunt, knelt before Ariana, and simply held them out to her, smiling and saying nothing. And Ariana took them! She retreated to the safety of Aberforth to eat them, but the fact remains that she took something from the hands of a person she had only been acquainted with for a bare minute. Miss Bagshot came over all a-flutter with praise, but her words meant nothing in comparison to what I felt.

It was not long before he, Miss Bagshot, and I were involved in a most engaging conversation on the subject of new techniques in Transfiguration. Ariana and Aberforth played the pianoforte together, sprinkling our conversation with their, ah, charming interpretation of a minuet. That night, I slept with a sense of contentment I have not known since my mother passed.

As you may infer from my report, I was eager to continue my acquaintance with Miss Bagshot's great-nephew as quickly as my duties permitted. I did not, however, expect to see him again within the day! The very next morning, as I was taking my usual stroll through the village, I happened upon him by the kissing gate of our local cemetery. Unprepared as I was, I bid him good morning and thought to continue home when he stopped me by way of blocking my path with his silver-handled walking stick, and then demanded my assistance in identifying some of the headstones. It was noon before we finished our investigation.

This distraction, however, was not without consequence. While I was so pleasantly engaged, the goats broke into the vegetable garden, and Ariana nearly set it on fire in agitation. I shall have to reinforce the spell wards around their pen if I am to enjoy a few moments outside my duties as head of household.

Ever since that fateful walk, we have spent every morning together. I feel my mind growing sharper every moment I am with him, as I have no doubt yours would, if you were here. Perhaps my internment in Godric's Hollow is not without merit after all. For though I should have liked to be with you as you narrowly escaped the wrath of the Mycenaean sphinxes, if I were not at home, I would not have met Gellert.

I am certain Aberforth would send his regards if he were not feeding the goats. Ariana sends her love, and asks that you bring her a sphinx feather when you visit us in the autumn. She found a rook feather in the rose garden yesterday and has since gone on a search for a feather from every bird she sees. By the time you arrive she is sure she will have a sizable collection to show you.

As always, I send you my warmest regards.

-Albus

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**Notes**

**Julian Flynt** was a turn of the century scholar known for both his research on the historical basis of Wizarding children's stories and his personal anti-Muggle leanings.

The city of Thebes has had one of the world's largest populations of **Mycenaean sphinxes** since the days of antiquity. The sphinxes are the pride of that city's magical community, and the location of their breeding grounds is a fiercely-guarded secret. When asked why he was forced to flee the generally benign members of this revered riddle of sphinxes, Elphias Doge sheepishly admitted that he had gone looking for the animal's breeding grounds, and upon getting close, was attacked by an adult female and her four cubs. "It isn't as if I were going to announce it to the world," he insists. "I just wanted to have a look."

Doge is still banned from entering Thebes and its surrounding areas.


	7. June 30th, 1899

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated. _

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June 30th, 1899_

Dear Gellert,

Do you like him? The owl, I mean. His name is Maurice thanks to my sister, though I prefer to think of him as Theseus. Regrettably, he only answers to my sister's appellation.

I was thinking of our discussion today on the question of the influence of Muggles on Wizarding society. I still stand by my assertion that while, yes, they do pose a threat to us through the dangers of misunderstanding, we are the ones with the wands, and it is our responsibility to protect them, not oppress them. I shall say no more on the subject until you can present me with substantial evidence to back up your daring claim that Muggles are an active threat to our way of life. I wish you luck in that enterprise, my friend. I very much doubt that you will be able to change my thoughts on this issue.

That, however, is not the reason I contacted you so late in the evening. The article you left me to read has lit the fires of my mind, and all night I have been delving into the subject with more fervor than I have known since my school days. Dragon's blood was always a pet project of mine at Hogwarts. I am ashamed to admit that my research on the substance has not moved forward since my internment at home. You can understand, I hope, the sense of loss that pervaded me when faced with what I thought was to be a barren future. Then you came to me. Since then I have realized that I have been wasting my time in self-pity.

All that is now dross. You and I, Gellert, we shall do great things together. Know that I am not being arrogant when I profess my sincere belief that we shall change the world.

Returning to the Dillonsby article, the gentleman seems to discount the caustic properties of dragon's blood which, when properly diluted, have proven so useful in cleansing wounds. To suggest that it can be used as a fabric softener is laughable. I shall rekindle my own research on that front and submit my findings to _The British Journal of Sorcery_ once I have reached conclusive results. Thus far, I have found at least eight uses for dragon's blood, none of which that charlatan can claim to have fabricated in his dubious research. In glancing over my notes, I can guess at roughly three more uses for dragon's blood, if not four, and as you know by now, my guesses are usually good.

The Flynt article you sent me has however left me with a different feeling altogether. While I readily admit that a great deal of wisdom can be found in old children's stories and that there is historical basis in such tales as "Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump," "The Tale of the Three Brothers" is largely understood as an allegory. "Do not fear death," and all that. Obviously a certain wand has torn a bloody swathe throughout history, but the cloak? The stone? A disillusionment charm cast by a skilled wizard eclipses any need for a mythical, never-fading invisibility cloak, and though I loathe to mention them, there are several vile dark magics that can "raise" the dead, as it were. It would be fascinating to rediscover these relics, but I see no evidence that they existed at all. Unless there is something you have yet to reveal...?

Tomorrow we shall have to discuss this further. I understand that this subject is important to you by your frequent mentioning of it, and I would like to learn more about the roots of your fervor. Though I have not known you long, already aspects of your personality are as clear to me as if I have known you all my life. You would not devote yourself to a frivolous endeavor.

Meet me for lunch at my home, at noon tomorrow. I have been trying new recipes in an effort to please my siblings, and have been pleased to discover that the culinary arts are surprisingly akin to the subtleties of alchemy. To know one's ingredients well enough to create something that goes beyond filling the belly, but rather ensnares and delights the senses, is a rewarding affair. I shall be offering bacon sandwiches, split-pea soup, and trifle for pudding. If you give me your assurance that you will be present, I can also promise a fine claret as a pairing. After lunch, we can walk the river path and discuss your Hallows.

Until tomorrow,  
Albus

* * *

**Notes**

As most children of our world are taught their first years of school, Albus Dumbledore went on to discover the **twelve uses of dragon's blood**, the last of which, oven cleaner, remained elusive to researchers for many years after the first eleven were discovered. In his article outlining the twelve uses, he attributes the discovery of the twelfth use to an accident. "Upon repeated testing, I have confirmed that my mistake of confusing one of my vials of dragon's blood with Mrs. Scower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover was a fortuitous one indeed, and that dragon's blood is an invaluable method of removing what even a well-cast _scourgify_ cannot."

_**The British Journal of Sorcery**_ remains one of the most prestigious and cutting-edge research magazines ever printed, and has been published bi-annually since 1809. Dumbledore's final paper on the twelve uses of dragon's blood was first revealed in this periodical.

The Julian **Flynt article** to which Dumbledore refers, "Hallows or Hollows? A Thorough Examination of the Deathly Hallows Throughout History," was published in the now defunct history quarterly _Time Enough_, which fell out of print following financial difficulties in the nineteen thirties. In it, Flynt outlines his hypothesis that the items mentioned in the Beedle the Bard tale, "The Three Brothers," could be easily traced throughout history if one payed attention to the clues. It received mixed responses, from thoughtful criticism of his arguments to outright ridicule. Flynt then closed his investigations into the location of the "Deathly Hallows," and continued his work in documenting the historical context of Wizarding children's stories*.

**Ivor Dillonsby**'s article on the eight uses of dragon's blood was not well-received by researchers of his day. Subsequent findings concluded that his research was rushed and his results faulty, though there are some holdouts among his peers who still attempt to soften their cloaks with a few drops of dragon's blood. Only a few of Dillonsby's uses remain among the twelve today**.

*_The historical context of "Babbity Rabbit and her Cackling Stump" is actually quite interesting._ Witch Hunts and Their Consequences _by Mirabella Salem is a fascinating account of how the Spanish Inquisition affected Wizards and Muggles alike, and_ _A_ History of Fire _by Sylvester Rook mentions Babbity Rabbity by name as the Witch who saved many Muggle towns threatened by Witchfinders and their ilk throughout the worst of the seventeenth century. -H.G.-W._

_**And those, I am not at all hesitant to say, only remain because others discovered them before him_. _-M.M._


	8. July 1st, 1899: I

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated._

_

* * *

_

_July 1st, 1899_

Dear Gellert,

I have decided that your idea concerning the picnic in the graveyard is not so macabre after all. You are correct in your assessment that the old yews along the banks of the brook are picturesque enough for any activity. The small knoll on the south bank is perfectly situated, and the threes grow thick enough there that we should enjoy a private meal.

Have I ever told you how I love yews? Many dislike the symbolism of that grim tree, but I do not see it as a representation of death, but rather of life. They remind me of happier days, when my father was alive and he would take Aberforth and me on walks in the old garden in Mould-on-the-Wold, which was hedged on all sides by tall yews. The sight of them always brings me back to that place.,

As for my earlier apprehension, I think I only argued with you for the sake of arguing. You were right; it would be a boon to excuse myself from my rambunctious relatives for one afternoon. If you bring napkins and cucumber sandwiches, I would be pleased to pack some cold tea and mutton and what ever else we might need. No claret this time, I am afraid. We quite depleted my personal stores during our last late-night session in my study. I shall have to apparate to the village to replenish my stock. Perhaps if you accompany me, we could locate the _rheingau_ you mentioned a few days past. I am always willing to sample witch-bottled wines. When pitted against Muggle fermentations, there is no comparison.

Which reminds me: I have given more consideration to your argument that Muggles are in need of guidance, particularly from wizards. I do not know whether you follow their news, but there is a certain tension rising in their world. The Americans are currently engaged in a brutal, Imperialist war against the natives of the Philippine Islands, and their tactics would put even the darkest of wizards to shame. Entire villages have been burnt to the ground and the earth behind them salted, and cholera and malnutrition have taken more lives than even those brutal tactics. Even the Muggles of your fatherland are expanding their borders with no regard for the people they crush under their war machine in their path to glory and empire. I feel without some interference on our part, all our races may become embroiled in a conflict so horrendous that the only result can be terror and pain.

Conversely, I could be mistaken in my assessment of the current political climate. There is no telling how the stones, once cast, may fall. Indeed, the sudden appearance of magic in a world that has heretofore denied its existence could cause chaos where there was none to begin with. Magic frightens them more than you can possibly imagine. Therefore, if you are serious in your goals of eventually creating a haven in which wizards have no need to hide their talents from their Muggle neighbors, then you must do it slowly and carefully, with your good intentions made clear. They will not be quick to trust our kind. How can they, when they do not even trust one another?

It is quite late, and the fire in the hearth has died down to embers, so I am forced to end my letter here. I do not expect you to reply immediately, so do not worry about writing back tonight. However, do reply at first light, so that I may see to Ariana and Aberforth's meals before I leave them to fend for themselves for the afternoon.

Yours,

Albus

* * *

**Notes**

**Hexenherz**, or Witch's Heart, is a German winery located in Eltville-am-rhein, Germany, and is likely the maker of the wine to which Dumbledore refers. It was established in 1219 by three sisters, all of magical descent, who had to establish their own living after their parents were killed for refusing to grant their local feudal lord endless wealth through magic. The sisters fled until they found a place far from the grounds of any castle-town, and replanted the root stock of the grapes that their parents had tended before they were killed. Their wine was soon famous for its pleasant taste and high quality, as it is today. **Rheingau** is the appellation of the region, and is used as a general term for the wine grown there.

The **Philippine-American War** lasted from 1899 to 1913. The brutal violence of the conflict inspired some to renounce Imperialism*, which was the practice of extending the dominion of a nation in order to gain direct or indirect control of other nations, and similarly inspired others to tout it as the only way to raise 'savages' from their states of violence and squalor. Celebrated Muggle writer Rudyard Kipling wrote his famous, and highly controversial, poem, "The White Man's Burden," in response to this war.

**The Great War** erupted in the European continent in 1914, though the conflict had roots beginning as far back as 1815, with the Holy Alliance between Austria-Hungary, Prussia, and Russia. This was the first in a complex series of political and military alliances between the nations of Europe and Asia that eventually resulted in a web of treaties so tangled that a single assassination resulted in a war that caused the deaths of several million. It irrevocably changed the political landscape of both the Muggle and Magical worlds. Empires fell, dynasties disappeared, and a tenth of an entire generation was lost. The few remaining magical royal houses of Europe were completely eradicated.

*_Imperialism did not stop, however, and resulted one of the greatest and most terrible wars the world has ever known. -M.M_.


	9. July 1st, 1899: II

_Written with deepest thanks to my beta, shelly-wa. Comments and criticism are always appreciated. _

* * *

_July 1st, 1899_

Dear Elphias,

How is Turkey? According to our final itinerary, you should have arrived there already en route to Iram. I imagine as you read this, you are surrounded by splendid architecture, babbling foreigners, coffee, curry, and djinns. Poor Elphias, without even a proper cup of tea to soothe his nerves.

Let not my teasing bother you; I am honestly quite envious of your travels. Godric's Hollow could never offer the delights and dangers of Arabia. However, it has been pleasant here these past weeks. My neighbor is a delightful and engaging companion, and Ariana has not required so much of my attention as I initially believed. Often she is content to pass her time alone or with Aberforth, requiring nothing more from me than regular meals. This has left me with a great deal of free time in which to pursue my own interests. I would, however, be remiss in my duties if I did not remind you of your promise to Ariana concerning her feathers. Forget not, Elphias, lest you suffer the wrath of a young lady scorned!

The only blight on my summer thus far has been Aberforth. Remember how I privately told you I hoped we could find common ground before the end of the holidays? If you can believe it, our relationship has deteriorated even further. He speaks to me less than he did at Hogwarts, and spends most of his time with his goats. When I enter the front door, he exits it. The only time he deigns to spend with me is during meals. Which isn't to say his manners improve when we break bread together; on the contrary, they become worse. For example, at supper two nights ago, I politely asked him to pass the gravy. In lieu of a response, he threw it at me, and it was only my quick wand reflexes that prevented my beard from becoming brown. When I asked him why he would do such a thing, he told me to sod off and stomped to his room. I am only thankful his behavior didn't upset Ariana, as she was occupied with sculpting flowers in her potatoes.

I try, Elphias. I try every day to get him to confide in me. I ask him about his goats, about the garden, I ask after his health, but the only reward for my concern is disdainful silence. If I want civilized conversation, I must leave my home, and when I allow myself even that small respite, Aberforth goes from silent to venomous. The only time we do talk is if the subject is Ariana. Gellert has suggested that Aberforth is jealous of our new friendship, but how could this be if he has shown no signs of jealousy towards my friends in the past? I pay Gellert no more attention than I did you when we were at Hogwarts.

Have I told you that he has offered to leave school so that I might quit Godric's Hollow? I did not entertain accepting his foolish gesture for a moment. To think he would be willing to forego his education in order to be rid of me! The meaning behind this strikes me to the core.

Why does he hate me so? What am I supposed to have done in order to so thoroughly earn his ire? I am, for one of the only times in my life, at a complete loss.

Ariana, at least, is content. I have noticed that she does not go into hysterics as frequently as she once did. The only recent incident was due to my own carelessness at mentioning the word "Muggle" in her presence. The poor girl panicked because she could not understand the meaning of the word even when I explained it to her. Gellert was forced to use a calming charm on her when her back was turned, lest she set the garden on fire for the third time this month. However, that incident was only one in a space of two weeks. I believe the increased freedom that I have granted her to be the catalyst in that change in temperament. Why, only yesterday she accompanied me to the river and caught frogs while Gellert and I conversed on the rocks.

Write me if you are admitted to Iram. I am eager to learn of their style of magic. I shall be desolate if you do not provide a detailed description of the main school, the alchemists at work, the oasis, and the Sumerian-based incantations they're supposedly researching. You do not want to be responsible for causing me agony, I am sure.

Until then I remain your friend,

Albus

* * *

**Notes**

**Iram of the Pillars**, long thought by Muggles to have vanished under the sands of the Rub' al-Khali (Empty Quarter) in the Arabian Peninsula, is the center of magical learning in the Middle East. Once Iram served as center of trade for frankincense merchants both Muggle and magical, who depended upon Iram's oasis for rest on their arduous trip through the desert. Increased desertification of the Rub' al-Khali and the loss of several surrounding oases caused the city to be all but impossible for Muggles to reach. Iram then became the chosen sanctuary for the Ubar people, who once openly practiced magic until forced to go into hiding around the first century C.E., long before the witches and wizards of the western world. In 1899, Iram was famous for its strides forward in the fields of Alchemy, Astronomy, Divination, and Proto-Magical Linguistics. Dumbledore himself spent two years there following the death of Ariana, and while there, began his work with his most famous partner, Nicholas Flamel.

Magic used in the Middle East, parts of West Asia, and North Africa through the Sahara is based on **Coptic** rather than Latin. There is a prevailing theory that it is the oldest form of magic in the world. However, archeological evidence suggests that the Mesopotamians, the earliest known civilization and creators of the first known written alphabet, cuneiform, practiced an even older magic that had its roots in **Sumerian**. During Dumbledore's time, three Iramian scholars were engaged in researching the mechanics of Sumerian Magic based on their translations of extant cuneiform tablets (see _Lost Magic: Sumerian as the Precursor of the Coptic System_ by Muhammad al Ghazali, Salah 'abd al Jabbar, and Tariq 'abd al Qahhar, 1911). However, this was not widely publicized at the time. It is unknown how Dumbledore came by his information.

**Djinns** are semi-intelligent magical creatures native to the Arabian Desert. As prey animals, they have developed the ability to cast extraordinarily convincing illusions in order to confuse their predators. When confronted by humans, they are able to babble in any tongue, promising to grant a wish to the person who lets them go free. Inevitably, the wished-for object vanishes as soon as the djinn has reached safety. Djinns are prized for their luminescent skin and their claws, which are used as cores in wand-making.

Elphias Doge did not reach his destination. After being tricked by a djinn, he became separated from his traveling party, and was forced to wander the desert in search of aid. Instead of finding help, however, he was attacked by **ghul**.

Ghilan (singular: ghul), also native to the Arabian Desert, are the main predators of the djinn. Though distant relatives of the common European house ghoul, they are far more dangerous. They are shapeshifters, able to contort their bodies into the guise of carnivorous animals, such as the hyena, in order hunt, kill, and devour their prey. One curious characteristic of the ghul is that it does not subsist on the meat of its prey, but rather the blood, which also grants it the ability to shift its shape into the last creature whose blood it drank. The ghul that attacked Elphias Doge was in the form of a young man.

"He offered me a drink, and I bloody well took it. What would you have done, died of thirst on the sands of the desert?" says Doge. "I hardly even noticed he'd begun to strangle me until I'd drained the flask."

Luckily for Doge, his cries for help attracted the attention of a passing bedouin, who saved him from his untimely fate. Unluckily for Doge, however, the bedouin man had also spotted him performing a fire charm. He insisted that he accompany him back to his tribe in order to perform 'miracles' for his family.

"They didn't treat me poorly per se," says Doge. "But it was fairly exasperating to have to perform _aguamenti_ and what not ten times a day. I think that's how my fingers became permanently pruney."

The bedouins released Doge after two weeks, when he burst into tears at the sight of a flying carpet.


	10. July 2nd, 1899

_July 2nd, 1899_

Dear Gellert,

I have searched through my books for hours and have finally found it - my first edition _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ in the original runes! What you told me of the Hallows caused a spark to ignite in my memory of the Tale of the Three Brothers, and it seems my recollection was correct. Your telling of the tale differs from the original! Have a look - I marked the relevant passages in pencil. I believe they are key to understanding of the Hallows at their roots.

Erase the marks when you've finished, please, and do let me know what you've concluded. There is, I think, more than enough room left on this parchment for your opinion.

Yours in anticipation,

Albus

* * *

Albus-

The twilight detail is intriguing. It suggests that the Hallows are not inherently evil, as the 'midnight' hour of the current oral tale does. 'Twilight' is a friendly time. A calm time. A time of port in the study with one's closest companion. I am confident that Beedle was master enough of his craft to be precise in his word choice.

-Gellert

* * *

Dear Gellert,

Precisely! Tone is everything in fables. If we are to locate these Hallows, we must be confident that they were not known in Beedle's time as instruments of death. Though now that I think on it, 'Deathly Hallows' is quite the misnomer. How can an instrument be anything but a reflection of its wielder's intent?

Yes, I have decided to join you in your search for the Hallows. I, who insisted they were nothing more than children's stories. I imagine that you are positively gloating at my conversion. By all means, gloat further. I was a fool to be sceptical of you.

It was the Peverell headstone that finally persuaded me. The carving on the stone is unquestionably identical to the symbol on your amulet. To think I spent so much of my childhood here and never realized that the brothers of the story were the Peverells.

Why, one of the Hallows could still be here in this very village! We must discount the wand, unfortunately. There have been rumors on the continent that a well-known wandmaker has procured it, though I doubt any veracity in his claims. Still, it may be worth looking into once we begin our search in earnest. The cloak and the stone cannot have gone terribly far. The cloak, especially, I would not expect to have left Godric's Hollow. When one can cast a disillusionment charm with sufficient skill, one does not need a cumbersome cloak tripping one's steps. If we were to trace family lineages, we may be able to find both. I have a horrible vision of the stone as a piece heirloom jewelry, worn by frivolous aristocrats with no conception of its true worth. Take heart, Gellert! When we find the Hallows, they may be in shocking states!

Whether the stone is a necklace or the head of a cane, it should retain its properties. Who will you consult first amongst the dead once it is finally in our hands? Merlin? Wenlock? Paracelsus? I myself should like to question the Wizard who discovered wandmaking. How did he work out which trees were ideal for wand use? What led him to the idea of a wand's core? Did he and his peers practice bare-handed magic before the advent of wands? Imagine what we could discover from that encounter that has been lost to history. Perhaps we could learn to make our own unbeatable wands, though I daresay we will be canny enough not to crow about them to the envious world.

Yours in brotherhood,

Albus (Hallows symbol)

* * *

Albus-

Would that you were so enthusiastic when I told you of my expulsion from Durmstrang.

-Gellert

* * *

My Dear Gellert,

How many times must I apologise? You cannot have expected me to react with joy upon learning of such an injustice. The negativity you surmised in my demeanor was due to shock, not revulsion. I know you. I have spent enough time conversing with you to understand that you are far too intelligent to have been expelled for poor marks. No; it was the Durmstrang authorities' deliberate misinterpretation of the intent behind your work, driven by jealousy of your abilities, that led to your expulsion. Of this, I am confident.

Please do not believe I would judge you for your past, my friend. I adore the Gellert that was expelled, for if he were not, he would not have come to Godric's Hollow. How dull my life would have been without him! How desolate! How deprived!

There, I hope that will suffice. Will you do me the honor of forgiveness, Gellert, or shall I prostrate myself before you even further?

Yours in wretched regret,

Albus

* * *

Albus-

Your apology shall do for now, though I am not sure yet whether I should grant you forgiveness. I am, however, magnanimous. You shall have your chance to demonstrate to me once and for all the extent of your regret tomorrow in Mr. Wiggins' apple orchard. Meet me at our usual time.

-Gellert (Hallows symbol)

* * *

Dear Gellert,

I shall be there.

Yours,

Albus (Hallows symbol)

* * *

**Notes**

**The Tales of Beedle the Bard** is a collection of Wizarding fairy tales written in the fifteenth century, C.E. by Beedle Bede. In the annotated edition of the tales, there is an essay by contemporary scholar Millicent Davies comparing the translation from the original runes by Hermione Granger-Weasley to the extant oral tales. The differences that Dumbledore and Grindelwald discuss in their letters have been the subject of much controversy between those who support the search for the Deathly Hallows and those who revile them.

**Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell** are thought to be the eponymous three brothers of the tale, and the original possessors of the Deathly Hallows. Ignotus, the youngest, was laid to rest in Godric's Hollow. The fates of Antioch and Cadmus are unknown*. The family is now extinct in the male line.

**Merlin Ambrosius**, who assisted the Muggle King Arthur during his reign in sixth century England, was a pioneering user of Charms and an extraordinarily powerful Wizard. He believed that Wizards should assist and protect Muggles, and founded the Order of Merlin to protect Muggle rights.

**Bridget Wenlock** was an accomplished Arithmancer who lived during the thirteenth century. She was the first to prove the magical properties of the number seven. Today, she is considered the founder of modern Arithmancy.

**Paracelsus**, born Phillip Von Hohenheim, was a sixteenth century alchemist about whom little is known. It is thought that he introduced the use of minerals and metals to potions used in healing.

**Windsor Wiggins** was a neighbor of the Dumbledores famous in Godric's Hollow for the quality of his apples. His son, Archibald Wogan-Wiggins, attended Hogwarts five years behind Dumbledore. Mr. Wogan-Wiggins currently supervises the orchard. He enjoys Quidditch and well-ventilated robes.

*_Unless one is to take the Beedle story at face value. Which, given the existence of the Elder Wand, one may (if one discounts the personification of death rubbish)._ -M.M.


	11. July 15th, 1899

_July 15th, 1899 _

Dear Gellert,

I am beginning to understand the heart of your argument regarding the Statute of Secrecy. Indeed I confess to spending long hours as a child wondering why I wasn't allowed to share my toy broomstick with my Muggle neighbors. Surely, I reasoned, it would delight them to experience flight, even if it was only as high as two feet off the ground. Though I persisted in asking my mother why it was necessary to keep that integral part of myself hidden, she never answered to my satisfaction. I stopped asking altogether when Ariana was a child. Now that you are here, that part of me has been reopened, and I find I am as little satisfied now as I was then.

Ariana. Would her life be easier in your ideal world? Would the absence of secrecy heal or harm? I do not know. There is much to consider. We take for granted so much of what is denied her by the volatility of her condition. She cannot do something so simple as to go out in public unsupervised, lest she cause a disturbance and alert the local Muggles to her existence. Even Aberforth would be forced to agree that this denial of independence during her formative years has done her more harm than good. Perhaps we

Where was I? Blast! I no longer recall. Perhaps I've taken too much port.

Pardon my lapse. I was interrupted by Aberforth. 'Speak of the boggart,' and all that. He wanted to know if I planned to pass tomorrow with you as usual. When I told him I did, he grunted at me and left. Apparently, the same question from me was beneath his dignity to answer.

Surely he understands that I would be happy to entertain you here if he needed to be elsewhere for the day. Why, if he told me he wanted to converse with the locals about goat husbandry in the village square I would wish him a good day and ask him to pick up a pot of ink at market. No; he must carry on as if he is making some great sacrifice in the face of my unending selfishness. Well tosh to him. I refuse to curtail my social life if he will not deign to grace me with his extremely important plans.

Here - I researched the Bard, as you requested. Find attached a cutting from last Autumn's _Time Enough._ It was their issue on influential writers. Sadly, as I predicted, it appears that old Beedle likely had nothing to do with our Hallows except as a chronicler, but the clipping does hold one item of interest.

Ah! I remember! I found a lead on the Elder Wand! I took the liberty of writing young Garrick Ollivander in London, the old wandmaker's apprentice. He was most happy to write at length of his rival on the continent, Vladimir Gregorovitch. He confirms that it is Gregorovitch who claims to have found the Elder Wand. The man is a Russian expatriate in Eastern Europe, so I suppose he must be short on ways to drum up business.

Would it be terribly forward of me to propose that we find him together? You need not worry for Ariana; I believe that a little travel would do her very well. We would not be able to leave until winter, however. It will take some time for me to finalize my affairs here. But do not fret. Together, I imagine we will be quite cozy.

Remind me to buy Ariana a new feather when we go to market tomorrow. She has been spending far too much time out of doors looking for them. I have lately seen very little of her.

Yours,

Albus [Hallows symbol]

* * *

[clipping from _Time Enough_, Autumn 1898. Author unknown.]

"...and all they found of him was a single yellow shoe.  
**Beedle Bede **(est. 1410-1490), was born in Yorkshire, England  
to a half-blood family of traveling scholars. Consequently, young  
Bede spent much of his childhood on the road, and there developed  
a taste for how the same story varied from one locale to the next.  
At the estimated age of twenty, his family settled for a time in  
Godric's Hollow. There, he began to compile these stories into a  
single volume that he would later distill into his most famous  
work, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ Regarded as odd by..."

_Great things begin and end in Godric's Hollow.  
__-_A.

* * *

**Notes**

**Vladimir Gregorovitch** was the primary maker of wands for North Eastern Europe for nearly ninety years. In 1895, he began to circulate rumors that he had located the legendary Elder Wand in order to resurrect his failing business. The claim worked, and soon Witches and Wizards from all over Europe began to flock to his door in search of wands derived from the study of the Elder Wand. He was killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in 1997 for the same rumor.

**Garrick Ollivander** was one of the most celebrated wandmakers to have ever lived. He standardized the three core system (unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring), still in use in Britain today. He was held captive by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for nearly two years for his knowledge of wandlore. His niece, Guinevere Ollivander, inherited his business in 2001 upon her uncle's death. He was 121 years old.


	12. July 21st, 1899

_July 21st, 1899_

Dear Gellert,

I've broken two quills on the beginnings of letters to you that I have since thrown into the fire. This is my fourth attempt. You will forgive me this once, I hope, for the quality of my writing. My hands, you see, are tremulous, and my nerves quite frayed.

Ariana had a fit today. It was abominably violent. Aberforth suffered a concussion and I a laceration to the throat, all in a few seconds time. We were only spared further injuries due to the sheer luck that I had my wand in hand when her fit began. Though that, I fear, was all the luck I had.

I was sloppy, Gellert. The strength of my stunning spell broke three of her ribs. I repaired the damage at once, of course, and she is unmarred as she ever was, but I cannot erase the act. I am sickened when I think on it. How could I have been so careless? Is the "greatest Wizard of his generation" not up to the task of safely containing a simple outburst of uncontrolled magic from his troubled sister? If I had aimed a little higher, the results may have been... I do not dare imagine it.

She is now resting in her room, as she does after all her more animated episodes. The furniture is repaired, the pottery mended, my throat healed, and Aberforth is already with his goats. But as for me, my friend, there is a new darkness in my heart that I fear I will never banish.

I keep returning to Ariana, like a doxy to a candle. What went wrong this morning? We are always so careful with her, Aberforth and I. We never mention certain words around her, we do not allow the presence of certain objects in our home, and we do not ever mention our poor father and mother or the circumstances of their deaths. Neither of us mentioned the "M" word this morning, nor did we approach her from her blind side, or a hundred other things that would make this letter dreadfully dull were I to list them all. Was it the color of her food? Was the quality of the air that day ill? Was the bleating of the goats off key? Did she spot an unfamiliar object in her porridge? Did a shadow pass the window and frighten her? She was gazing at the garden when it happened; I suppose she saw something outside that Aberforth and I did not. But what am I to do, if this is the reason? Curtain all the windows? Lock her up indoors for the rest of her life? Make her a prisoner, like those poor souls at St. Mungo's?

All day, I wished to come to you. Your dry quips would surely lift my ennui, and your penetrating mind would put an end to my fruitless cogitating.

I dare not put any more of this to paper. Would you consent to meet me at our usual place tomorrow afternoon for tea? There is much we must discuss.

Yours,

Albus

* * *

**Notes**

In the third paragraph, Dumbledore quotes an article published in the Daily Prophet in April of 1898. He had just been awarded the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, and the reporter was rather enthusiastic about her subject.

"Never in the history of our kind has the Barnabus Finkley Prize been awarded to one so young - or so clever with his wand! They call him the best in his class. Some call him the best at Hogwarts. Some even call him the best in Scotland. Let me be the first, dear readers, to call him the greatest Wizard of his generation."

-Lilian Parnell, reporter for the _Daily Prophet_, 1878-1923, editor for _Witch Weekly_, 1923-1945


	13. August 14th, 1899

_August 14th, 1899_

Dear Gellert,

I thank you for your company during lunch this time last week. Though I have been occupied with my family as of late, I have longed for your company as you know I always do. I hope that you have not been as desolate as I have. I know that you are clever and can find brilliant ways to occupy your time but I do worry so when I imagine you frowning alone over a puzzling passage in Bede's journals. Would that I could always be there to help you sort out the tangles in your thoughts. Alas, family and duty are as ever my constant jailors.

Aberforth is going to teach Arianna how to milk the goats tomorrow afternoon. He has also agreed to make supper, should I care to allow him. I of course granted permission. He used words to ask me! How could I not? Gellert, I cannot tell you how moved I was that he who has insisted on grunting at me for most of the summer deigned to raise his standards of communication for my benefit. I suppose it was his way of thanking me for all I've done this week.

He needn't do that. I would do anything for them. I wish I could tell him so in a way he understood.

Enough. This letter is for happy tidings only. I have decided to take Aberforth's gesture of goodwill for what it is and have already taken care of all my work for the afternoon. Tomorrow starting at one in the afternoon, I am yours to command, if you'll have me. I do hope you will. I have missed your voice.

I confess I have also been occupied with what you said to me about "the greater good." I want, no, I need a chance to speak with you in more detail about it. It has kept me up nights thinking. At first I thought you spoke madness, but now? Surely times are enlightened enough now that we need not hide our accomplishments from those who were not lucky enough to be born with the gift of magic. Surely the gifts we can bring them will outweigh their natural fear. If those boys had known what magic was when they saw Arianna playing in the garden that day, how different her life would have been. It hurts my heart to dwell on it, Gellert.

A world in which Arianna need not hide is a world I would very much like to see. Even better to make it happen. Until I met you, I thought it an unreachable dream. Now I know that there is no dream that cannot be fulfilled if one has the strength of will to achieve it.

Let us join our dreams together. You and I, my [illegible text], my good, my dearest friend, will be the joyous architects of a newer, better world.

Until tomorrow, I remain, as ever, yours.

-Albus [Hallows Symbol]


End file.
